


The One with Gummy Worms and Someone Besides Bob Threatening to Kill Frank

by cynthia_arrow (thesilverarrow)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/cynthia_arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He might seem cool, but he really has no defenses for Frank when he's like this, especially not Frank wearing his Very Determined face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with Gummy Worms and Someone Besides Bob Threatening to Kill Frank

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to livejournal many, many moons ago. I'm simply archiving it here.

"Iero," Bob says. "I don't think this is such a good idea."  
  
But Frank's already ripping into the packages of gummy worms. Besides, Bob can hardly argue with him now that he helped him convince the driver to stop so they could go to a gas station. And loaned him a crumpled up five dollar bill to buy them with. And followed him to three more gas stations until he found a kosher (and in this case vegan) brand that didn't have gelatin ( _ground up horse hooves, Bryar_ ) in them.  
  
Now, it's not like Bob's scared of Gerard, but Gerard's pretty fucking annoying when he gets all pissy.  
  
Bob scratches at his scalp. "Frank," he says.  
  
"It'll be hilarious," Franks says.  
  
"But you know how Gee is about worms."  
  
Frank smiles wickedly, that smile that always makes Bob catch his breath, even when he's not sleepy and feeling lonely and, well, a little hornier than usual, to be honest. He might seem cool, but he really has no defenses for Frank when he's like this, especially not Frank wearing his Very Determined face. The tip of Frank's tongue flicks out and worries his lip ring as he kneels down beside Gerard's bunk and begins carefully arranging the gummy worms on his pillow and then, even more carefully, on his exposed arm.  
  
Frank murmurs, "Don't know what the fuck bothers him so much about worms, not any more than bugs and bats and all that shit."  
  
Bob glares at him to shut up, as if he should doubt Frank's ability to be just as stealthy as he needs to be--and not one iota more. He leans against the door frame separating the kitchen from the sleeping area and feels his adrenaline kick his heartbeat up. Gerard's sleeping is light on his best days, and this hasn't been a best day. Only Frank could be crazy enough to decide a prank is the prime way to cure Gerard's bad mood.   
  
On the other hand, that's the reason it will probably work despite the fact that it seems bass-ackwards: it's Frank. It's not that Frank doesn't know Gerard all too well, as well as the rest of them do, if not better. It's that he's going to do what the fuck he wants anyway. Frank and Gerard are alike that way; probably, it's the only reason they get along as well as they do. That and there's always good intentions at the back of the most seemingly self-involved or stubbornly earnest, manic shit they do.  
  
Still, all this makes Bob's heart beat a little to fast (anticipation? dread? just Frank?), especially as Frank turns and murmurs, "His face?"  
  
Bob shakes his head violently. He mouths,  _He'll wake up, you dumbshit_. He motions to him just as violently (excitedly? desperately? Frank-appropriately?) to come the fuck away from there.   
  
When he's satisfied Frank's done being a pain in Gerard's ass, Bob climbs up into his own bunk, watching Frank closely (why is it  _his_  job to watch Frank? or does he kind of  _need_  to have his eyes on him all the time?) to make sure he doesn't have anything else crazy planned. Luckily, whatever kind of rambling, roaming, general nuisance mood Frank was in seems to have been just his last desperate push of energy, maybe a way to put off confronting his bunk and the threat of insomnia that's been plaguing him more and more lately. He's pulling off his boots and jeans now, his eyelids fluttering open, closed, open.  
  
Bob's lies in his bunk with his eyes closed, mostly secure in the knowledge that if someone is murdered tomorrow, it won't be him; it will be Frank. Or at least the attempt will be made on him. He's a slick little fucker, but Gee's obstinate enough to do things like chase him over a Waffle House parking lot in central Oklahoma just to prove a point. He's calculating the odds (in Frank's favor--Gerard likes to chase, but he doesn't need to catch) when he feels a pair of eyes on him. Sort of.  
  
"What?" he says.  
  
A clammy hand reaches up and touches his arm, and then something else does. Bob grabs Frank's wrist before he can deposit any more gummy worms on him.  
  
"Swear to God, Iero..."  
  
Frank chuckles. "Knew you weren't asleep. Can I come up? 'm bored."  
  
"Go to sleep," Bob says. "We're driving east. Losing two time zones tomorrow. Today."  
  
But Frank's already climbing up. Bob shifts over and there's precisely enough room for the two of them--if they lie squashed up against each other like sardines in a can. Frank doesn't seem bothered by that (of course not); he drops that last gummy worm into his mouth whole and snuggles in closer, chewing.   
  
(Why in the hell should lemon-lime on somebody's breath make Bob so goddamn hot?)  
  
Bob's lying there quietly, hoping Frank will settle down and sleep, or at least let him sleep, when Frank takes a deep breath like he's going to talk.  
  
After an eternal pause, he says, "Thanks, man."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Coming with me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I mean, it was a shit day, and I--"  
  
"Yeah?" What he means is,  _What?_  and  _I didn't know you were having a bad day, too_  and  _Why didn't I know?_.  
  
"I don't like it when Gerard's all mopey over the music. Makes me...tense."  
  
"Yeah," Bob says. "Me too. So, um, Frankie…Why disturb the shit out of him?"  
  
Frank smiles against his neck. "Well," he murmurs. "I think he secretly likes it when he has something to complain about. I'm easy to complain about."  
  
"He really might kill you."  
  
After a pause, Frank says, "Nah." Then another pause, as if he's hearing Bob's unasked question. "He likes gummy worms."  
  
Bob's not sure when he falls asleep, but it's not even light out when he wakes up to quiet and to Frank's ass nearly falling off the bunk. When he pulls him close again, dragging him up half over his own chest, Frank instantly molds to him, his stomach resting warm against Bob's side and his hips...   
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
Frank's hard as a fucking rock against his hip, and he's sleepy warm and now half awake, his still clammy little hand slowly curling around Bob's neck. When Frank's thumb starts rubbing lazy against his pulse point, Bob breathes deep, but all he breathes in is the usual scent of Frank along with gummy worms, and it's...   
  
Hot. Yeah.   
  
His life is so unfair.   
  
"Go back to sleep," Frank murmurs into his collarbone. As if he's not pressing into him with his erection. As if they're not sharing the same air. And that should've been him saying that shit anyway.  _Go back to sleep, Iero_ , he thinks. Bob squirms a little, involuntarily, and Frank gives a sleepy, comfy little groan.   
  
(Bob kind of hopes Gerard kills him.   
  
But not really. He'd miss him. He really would.)  
  
Bob's almost asleep again, falling under to the slight hum and vibration of the wheels rolling under them, when he hears a jerking rustle, a loud thump, then a frustrated sigh. He's coming fully awake just in time to hear what sounds pretty much like a wad of congealed corn syrup coming apart with a whack against the inside of the door. It's not long before he hears footsteps.   
  
Frank's awake, too (he must be, for all his arms are tensing a little over Bob's chest) but he's trying to stay still and quiet. Bob plays asleep, too. Seems the thing to do. Only when the footsteps stops in front of his bunk does he open one eye to find Gerard, hair more askew than normal, glaring with bleary eyes at a supposedly sleeping Frank. Gerard frowns at Bob just before poking Frank as hard as he can in the ribs.   
  
Frank jumps but he manages not to squeak or yelp. He immediately rolls over, smiling at Bob as he does, then smiling at Gerard.  
  
"You're such an asshole," Gerard says flatly. He looks a little like someone who awakened out of a deep sleep to a nightmare and now has to try and stay awake long enough not to go back into it. Not that Frank's gummy worms were a nightmare or anything that dire; it's just that he looks like the adrenaline's battling what's left of some really nice REM sleep.  
  
"I know," Frank says, voice gravelly, slow and warm.  
  
Gerard reaches up, and he's got a handful of gummy worms clutched in his fist. Bob's actually kind of afraid for half a second, but then Frank opens his mouth and Gerard drops a red and orange one onto his tongue. If it's vaguely erotic, for half a second, Bob figures it's because he's not entirely awake.  
  
Gerard perches three more gummies one by one on the curve of Frank's hip, then he says, "I'm sleeping in today. Wake me any earlier than you absolutely have to, and I will fucking kill you." He's looking mostly at Bob, as if to say,  _Please leash the Iero_. Except he's kind of smiling. So is Bob, for that matter.  
  
As Gerard shambles away, Frank says, "We gonna have a good day, Gee?"  
  
"Yes," Gerard tosses over his shoulder. "Gonna have a good day, Eff. When it actually starts."  
  
"So, Bee," Frank says, turning back (with no regard to where the gummy worms fall) and plastering himself to Bob's side again. "Who's the genius?"  
  
"You are. The tiny, annoying genius."  
  
"You love me," Franks says.  
  
"Yeah," Bob replies. Unthinking. He doesn't really have to think to know that answer. And it's not like he hasn't said it often enough.  
  
But tonight (this morning?) is somehow different, apparently.   
  
Frank's head shoots up. "Yeah?"  
  
It suddenly feels different to Bob, too. It takes every bit of effort he has not to get all mushy-hearted and smiley-eyed. He rolls his eyes like normal and then closes them, saying, "Go back to sleep."  
  
He tries to do that himself, but soon he becomes aware of Frank's eyes still on him, and when he opens his own again, Frank is looking at him so hard, like he's a puzzle, but a really interesting one (even though,  _Jesus Christ_ , Frank is obviously the real puzzle here). Bob feels this shiver run down his spine, that rattled feeling lingering even as Frank turns over and spoons back into him.  
  
Frank says, "I think I'm gonna have a good day, too."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"I don't need to litter you with anything gummy, do I? I will if I got to, you know."  
  
Bob laughs and feels his arms closing and squeezing around Frank. Then Frank lets out this little sigh, and Bob feels something hot wash over him.  
  
"No," he whispers behind Frank's ear. "I'm cool."  
  
Frank turns his head so he can look at Bob's face. Frank understands people better when he's looking at them. It's different for Bob: he understands people better when he's watching them, some kind of distance there.   
  
But there's very little distance with Frank and his seeing, or when someone's being seen by Frank, if that person's paying attention. Right now, in the dim false light of the bus, Bob can make out only the flutter of his eyelids and the curve of his mouth. Without thinking too much, he pulls his head up a little and kisses that curve.  
  
Frank smiles at him when he pulls back.  
  
"Yeah, Bryar?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Bob is not so keen on some awkward conversation, especially one that will make Frank excitable and even more inarticulate than normal. So he grabs Frank by the arm and pulls him back over, drawing that tight little body of his into his arms. It's pretty different than that body clinging to him, except it's not, quite—it's still Frank.   
  
Only after he's kisses him again, tasting red sugar with a tang of orange, does he think about it. Really think.  
  
"Hey," Bob says. "Is this... I mean, I wasn't reading you wrong?"  
  
Frank shakes his head and wraps himself even tighter, the muscles in his arms and chest and stomach pretty much fucking vibrating against the clutch of Bob's arms. "You are so fucking hot, man."  
  
In a rush Frank sort of takes over his mouth again, all soft sucking and flicks of his tongue, and Bob's face is flushing like a motherfucker.   
  
Frank pulls his mouth away from Bob's lips a moment later so he can kiss his way over his jaw, and as he does, he says, "Had a feeling this would be a good day."  
  
"A feeling?"  
  
"Was hoping you'd eventually stop being so Bob."  
  
"So Bob?"  
  
Frank giggles into his beard. "Don't make me explain you to you, okay. You're just...Bob."  
  
"And that's a problem?"  
  
"Not really," Frank says. "I like you even when you're being silly."  
  
Bob has all sorts of replies on the tip of his tongue, something about glass houses or pots and kettles, but he'd much rather have Frank on the tip of his tongue, so he eagerly (a little too eagerly? Frank eagerly?) kisses this insane person who dragged him off the bus at 2:30 a.m. in bumfuck Colorado to buy candy just to annoy Gerard in order to cheer him up. And of course it worked, because he's Frank. He tastes like cleverness and sugar and stubbornness and cherry-orange and good plans of all sorts, no matter how crazy. Which is okay. Bob sort of has enough sanity and five dollar bills shoved into his pockets for the both of them.


End file.
